Ch 27: Counting Stars, Making Those Feelings Right

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TREVOR~

Beneath the flashing neon lights, I stride across the dance floor. I try to look for my bandmates who are probably reeking of alcohol now. I took a few shots, and it is only now that I feel my body burning. I am still able to see clearly though, for whisky isn’t the drink to knock me out of intoxication.

I don’t know what the hell what brought Irony Affairs inside a bar. All I recall is hearing that Flame Alyconia decided to pass time in a bar and then Rick started whining about staying inside a boring hotel room. We arrived at this place a couple of hours later after FA arrived.

I shove the strangers away and push my way through the crowd. It’s only a few people—fans who wish to hang out with us and those who don’t give a damn about both bands—but they dance frantically that they use up more space than they should. Damn, this is getting to feel irritating.

I turn my head and scrutinize every blonde woman in the area. Alcohol may have slowly started to cloud my judgement but I’m certain of one thing that’s going on inside my mind.

I have to find her. I need to see her.

What Xavier said to me at the restaurant last time scared the living shit out of me. The countdown makes me feel very anxious. I found out from our freelance tour managers that we’ll be parting from each other on the twenty-fourth, giving me less than 48 hours left to mingle with the Flames. I have less than two days to settle things and to make up for not giving her much attention in the past. To sincerely thank her for all her help one more time. To contemplate and realize what I really want, since I feel so different lately. To know what she feels and thinks about me. To say goodbye even if it hurts.  

I hiss at this stupid idea of staying inside a bar. I don’t want a fraction of my remaining time to be spent on alcohol and frenzied dancing. Not seeing her in a year or more gave me sleepless nights. Pathetic, I know, and I hate it.

It’s hard making my way through this hellhole when the disco lights try to mess with my vision. Still, I keep on glancing at the faces of each blonde woman I spot, not caring how helpless I look like.

I have to find her, whatever it takes.

What has gotten into me lately? I laugh at myself. I’ve never been like this in several years. Look at this effect she has on me.

“Trevor my boy, what are you up to?” Terence, who’s obviously taken several shots, says after bumping into me. “Have more whisky, man, and enjoy the night.”

Her bandmate! Wishing all the luck in the world, I grip him by the shoulders, a grip so tight I’m bound to crush his bones. “Kailey! Tell me where she is! Now!”

“Bar stools,” he replies, pointing to his west.

I thank the heavens that he’s sober enough to answer me. I immediately leave him and headed to the direction he pointed to. The area is dim, but I am able to recognize the familiar figure—or figures—clearly. It’s her, and that guy Oliver.

Do something, I remind myself. Clock’s ticking. I take quick-paced steps towards them, intentionally interrupting their conversation.

“Kailey!”

She looks at me from head to toe, her back hunched and her hair messier than the usual. She does not say anything and just kept on staring at me. The goofy expression she wears gives a hint that she’s already under the influence of alcohol.

“Hey,” she finally blurts out and lifts a palm up.

“Oliver, could I borrow her for a while?” I ask her guitarist who intuitively frowns then leaves.

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